


Slytherin's Wife

by Ravenclaw_Peredhel



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Hogwarts Founders Era, Witch Hunts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-12
Updated: 2021-01-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:27:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25864321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ravenclaw_Peredhel/pseuds/Ravenclaw_Peredhel
Summary: "Why did you save me?""You are one of us, we could not leave one of our own to die so painfully.""You should have let me die.""Why? Why should we abandon one of our own? Let you be burned alive, when we could have saved you? Did you expect us to pass by, to ignore it?""Why not? My own husband killed my parents and our daughter, his own flesh and blood, and tried to kill me, because he saw me making a potion. The villagers, who loved me, who were loyal and trusting of me, cheered as my daughter was killed by her own father, as I was tied to the stake and the fire was lit. Tell me, what do I have to live for?"
Relationships: Godric Gryffindor/Rowena Ravenclaw, Helga Hufflepuff/Original Male Character(s), Salazar Slytherin/Original Female Character(s)
Kudos: 16





	1. Witch Burning

Five cloaked figures rode along the snowy road, talking and laughing as they went. The first was a tall, heavily muscular, tanned man in a bright red cloak trimmed with gold. He had bright red hair and jolly amber eyes, though his features were obscured by his riotous beard, and he grinned as the lady next to him laughed merrily at his joke. She was cloaked in regal blue, trimmed with bronze. Her skin was pale, with raven black hair and piercing blue eyes which twinkled as she laughed. 

Behind them rode a pretty young woman, the youngest in the group, hooded in a cheerful yellow cloak bordered in black. She had dark blonde curly hair and black eyes which twinkled and snapped, her skin burnt brown from long hours spent in the sun. Her husband rode next to her, a tall quiet man in an odd silvery cloak which rippled and shimmered as though trying to disapear. He had black hair, as black as death, and hazel eyes which shone with honesty and life. He smiled at the woman and then leaned back to ask a question of the last member of their party.

This man was the oldest, probably by several years, taller than any of the others, with black hair and bright poisonous green eyes. He was the quietest of them all, watching the two couples before him with a kind of wistful envy. He had never been in love and often watched his friends, wondering if he would ever find someone he would love as much as Godric and Rowena loved each other, as much as Helga and Aurelius loved each other. When such moods were upon him, he threw himself into work for their school, which was almost complete. All that they had left to do was find students and a Transfiguration teacher. They had been all over Scotland, Wales and Ireland, and were just beginning on England. Maybe they could find someone there. They had staff for everything else, but there was an irritating lack of magicals with a mastery of Transfiguration. It seemed to be something that many if not all magicals were merely competent in, and those who were able to teach did not want to, though one, Robespierre Malfoy had said that if they could find no one else, he would do it. The trouble was, he was also a Lord, a widower and had three sons and four daughters, one of whom was a Squib and four of which were under eleven.

They crested a hill, and all such musings were driven out of his head. There was a small town below them, barely more than a village. There was a large gathering of torches just in front of the small manor house in the center of the village, and they all knew what that meant. Witch Hunt. 

Almost unconsciously they had done it so often, they Disillusioned and Silenced themselves and their horses, casting spells so that they could see and hear what was happening, even as they urged their horses ever faster towards the congregation of torches.

As the spells took effect, they saw a young man, not more than 24, striding down the steps of the manor house, a little girl in his arms. His face was twisted in a snarl of hatred and he held the little girl as if she was contagious. She was adorable, with the same jade green eyes and tousled bronze hair as him. 

The two were followed by two big beefy men, who were wrestling a struggling woman in a nightgown with them. She was young, barely 18 if that, and practically glowing with supressed magic. Salazar growled at the sight. The mundanes had recently realised that Magic Supression potions captured off travelling healers, meant for young children in tiny doses to avoid outbursts of accidental magic that could lead to discovery, in large doeses could prevent the magic of adult witches and wizards from protecting themselves. This was leading to many more deaths and indeed some amoral mages were selling the potions, not caring that selling a vial of the potion was essentially murdering their own kind.

The woman, girl even, was flung down into the snow, the mundanes cheering at the sight. Several came forward, dropping two bodies in front of her. Fresh blood oozed from them as they lay in the snow, battered and broken. A man and a woman, with unseeing eyes and rich clothes stained with blood, ripped and torn. The woman had beautiful blue-green eyes staring sightlessly up at the stars, dark red hair indistinguishable in the dim light from the blood spilling from the many wounds on her. She had obviously died in pain, her mouth open in a soundless scream, and her features pinched, her legs and arms at awkward angles, with many gashes along them, as well as on her torso, with one gaping slice along her neck, like a grim mouth. The man had amber-brown eyes, one obliterated by a savage slash along his face. He too had died in pain, his limbs and torso covered in gashes and stab wounds. The main cause of death was obvious, his chest having a huge dent in it, caving in in a way abbhorrent to nature. The girl screamed, her eyes welling with tears, and the mundanes laughed.

"We would do the same to you witch, but I think well go the old fashioned way, after all we had set up the stake, so why waste it?" The young man gloated, ripping a ring from his wedding ring finger and throwing it at her, catching her just above her cheekbone and causing a trickle of blood to run down her face, mingling with the tears streaming from her eyes. "Oh, don't cry. You'll join your demon parents in hell soon enough." 

"Fergus, they never hurt you, they were leaving. Why didn't you let them leave? You don't even know that they were magical, you just killed them. Couldn't you at least have done it quickly? Was it so hard to end their lives without torturing them?" The girl was sobing uncontrollably, her trembling hands reaching out to her parents bodies. She was roughly jerked back, the two mundane brutes dragging her towards the stake as the crowd cheered. She was lashed to the stake, the ropes pulled viciously tight.

Her eyes flickered to the little girl, who was squirming in the man's harsh grip, reaching towards her. 'Fergus' leered at her, withdrawing a dagger from his belt and holding it to the child's back. 

"NO! Please, Fergus, don't, don't. she's just a baby, she doesn't have to die. She's your child, born of your wife, you can't kill her just because I'm magical. She's flesh and blood, she's your daughter, your own daughter. Don't kill her Fergus, please, please. Tell her I was a witch, raise her to hate me, I don't care, but don't kill her, please. She's not even magical, she doesn't have a drop of magic in her, she's as normal as you. Kill me Fergus, I don't care but don't kill our daughter for who I am, for something that she doesn't share." She was frantic now, pleading brokenly for the child''s life. Fergus smiled, turning to the villagers.

"This witch lived among us for three years, learning our secrets, winning our trust, nay, our love with her lies and false kindness. She bore a child in her wicked deception, a child that would doubtless share in her demonic ways. I do not doubt that had I not discovered the truth I would have been dead as soon as she conceived a son. Should this witch, this evil harlot, be allowed any request she makes of us? I say we kill her child, then we kill her!" The host roared their agreement, and Fergus turned back to the girl. "Death it is." Then, with one swift movement, he buried the dagger in the little girl''s back, where it would penetrate the lung. The mundane cheered and the five Mages making their way as swiftly as they could to the scene froze a's the little girl whimpered, blood trickling from her mouth as she reached towards the girl tied to the stake.

"NO!" The girl screamed, her voice broken and agonised. She began to cry again, sagging against the ropes as Fergus smiled at her and dropped the child in the snow. Her blood seeped out of the wound, mingling with that of the man and woman already lying there. She shuddered and lay still. 

Fergus held out his hand and a torch was laid in it. He leered at the girl and made his way towards her, kicking the broken bodies aside as he did so. "By the power vested in me by God on high, I hereby sentence you, a witch and a traitor, to death. And may you lie in eternal torment until the Judgement Day comes." He thrust the torch into the hay bales and sprang back.

The five Mages hurried even faster, being almost within spell range. 

The fire picked at the hay and sticks, eating ever closer to the girl tied to the stake. Her eyes were fixed on the three bodies lying in the snow, her head held high as tears and blood streamed down her cheeks. 

Then, a barrage of spells hit the mundane, knocking them out and dousing the fire just as it reached the girl's dress. 

Salazar jumped from his horse, landing on the now smoking pile of straw and cut the ropes binding her to the rough wooden stake. She collapsed as soon as the ropes were cut through, nearly unconscious from a combination of shock, grief and smoke. He lifted her gently and remounted his horse, before they combined forces to create the effects of what would have happened had they not come. The burnt and smoking stake and the nauseating smell of burnt flesh filled the air, and he gagged. The five wheeled and galloped out of the small town, making for a copse a few miles back that they could Portkey to Hogwarts from. 


	2. Hogwarts

Eira opened her eyes to find herself in a large soft bed in an airy light room. For a moment, she imagined herself to be back in her own room, with Fergus beside her and little Gwen in the room next to them. Then the memories of last night came flooding back and she turned over, stifling her sobs in her pillow. Wait. Pillow. Room. Where was she? She had been tied to the stake, and Gwen had been killed and she would never be let back into the manor again. So, what had happened? There was a faint memory, a man with green eyes on a horse, the whirl of a Portkey. Had she been kidnapped?

"Hello. How are you today?" A pretty woman, maybe 23 years old had come in unheard, a tray of food floating in front of her. "I am Helga Hufflepuff, and this is Hogwarts, soon to be a school for Witches and Wizards. We brought you here after we stopped you being burned. I hope you don't mind. What's your name anyway?" Eira hesitated, before sending a light probe to the woman. Heavy shields met her and she had to be content with scanning outer thoughts, perfectly normal among wizards who had recently met each other. She felt only honesty and concern.

"My name is Eira Le Fay and it seems that I owe you my life."

***************

Over the next few days, Eira met the other inhabitants of Hogwarts. Helga turned out to be Lady Hufflepuff, her husband being Lord Peverell. There was an intelligent blue-eyed witch, Lady Ravenclaw, and a large jolly man, Lord Gryffindor. Finally, there was a clever dark-haired wizard who was Lord Slytherin, the one who rescued her. Slowly, her magic came back, calming her, as though sight or sound or smell was returned. 

She was the youngest inhabitant of the castle at barely 19. Lady Hufflepuff was 23, Lady Ravenclaw 26. Lord Peverell was 29, Lord Gryffindor 36 and Lord Slytherin 39. Although she was young, Eira was perceptive, and could pin people down quite easily. Lady Hufflepuff was the friendly, loyal kind, who seemed deceptively delicate but if given the right incentive could destroy someone in a heartbeat. Lady Ravenclaw was wise and far-seeing, dreamy even. Eira suspected that she might be a Seer. Lord Peverell was quiet and sad, always seeming to be trying to hard as though to atone for something. She was slightly overwhelmed by Lord Gryffindor, he was so tall and loud and bright, brash even. The only one that she had not yet figured out was Lord Slytherin. He walked slightly halt of one foot, was proud and powerful but she had nothing that she could use to pin down his personality, and that made her wary of him.

Eira sat quietly in the library, reading a book on Transfiguration. It was quite interesting, a thesis on the reason behind the impossibility of Conjuring food by some fellow named Gamp, total nonsense of course, but an interesting theory. "You are interested in Transfiguration my lady." Lord Slytherin had come up to her unnoticed, holding up his hands as she pointed her wand at him reflexively. She coloured slightly and lowered her wand.

"I apologise my lord, I did not-"

"I understand my lady. It was an unconscious reaction. Pardon my insistence, but you have some skill in it?" The question irritated Eira. Perhaps it was not wise considering that he was more than twice her age and so would know far more magics than her, making antagonising him undesirable, but she was very proud. 

"I have a little skill Lord Slytherin. I am sure that a Mastery would prove it?" Her voice was cold, and a smaller one in the back of her head warned her that she might regret this later. 

"It appears I was mistaken my lady. Forgive my arrogance. To make amends, would you consider a post here at Hogwarts?" She gaped at him for a split second.

"Teach? Here?"

"I believe that is what a post at Hogwarts means."

"I...thank you." If not for this, then by the time that she was healed, she would have uad nowhere to go. "I would gladly accept, Lord Slytherin." He smiled at her, the expression turning his cold features dazzling. 

"If you would call me Salazar my lady, I would be honoured."

"Then you must call me Eira." 

************************

Eira hummed to herself, a silly wordless melody her father's bard had often used as the basis of his pieces, as she decorated her classroom. Beautiful things had always been a weakness of the Le Fays, a throwback to their Fae ancestry. With every elaborate flourish of her wand, the magic thickened and grew, until she finally sealed the enchantment with a Word. 

Hoping desperately that it would work, she closed her eyes and concentrated. Around her, she could feel the magic shifting to accommodate her wish. Would it work? She had not been crushed or transformed, so that much had worked.

Slowly, cautiously, she opened her eyes. Instead of the plain stone room of a moment ago, she was in a warm, cosy cottage. A fire roared in the grate, and when she scuffed the floor, dirt came off onto her shoe. 

Eira dashed outside of the room, grabbing the first person she saw. ''Come on!" Then she realised who it was that she had grabbed and coloured. "Oh. I am sorry, I did not mean to."

He smiled. "Do not worry. You have something to show me?"

When she showed him the enchanted classroom, for the first time in her acquaintance with the enigmatic, suave man, he was speechless. "H...how did you do this Eira?"

"My family is very old by any standard Salazar. We have access to Magyks that few will ever have." 

And he left it at that. Family Magyks were sacrosant. That she had deigned to use them at all to aid Hogwarts was...staggering.


End file.
